


No Tentpoles were Harmed in the Making of this Love

by acidtonguejenny



Series: Dragon Age Kinkmeme Fills [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidtonguejenny/pseuds/acidtonguejenny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first he thought it was because they were both pent up virgins, and she was just giving into temptation more readily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Tentpoles were Harmed in the Making of this Love

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/10371.html?thread=42751619#t42751619) at the DA kink meme.

At first he thought it was because they were both pent up virgins, and she was just giving into temptation more readily. Nothing appeared to connect the various events which immediately after saw the Warden hauling him into a tent, or a bed, or a broom cupboard. 

The broom cupboard was a particularly desperate romp because the others were only browsing Denerim’s market, and would miss them long before they finished. Normally their companions’ knowing glances made the Warden blush as madly as they did Alistair.

Maybe she just really loved kittens? She’d barely allowed Alistair to hand the squirming pile over to the children who’d lost them before dragging him off. 

But a few days later, as they were headed for the Brecilian Forest and mistakenly passed through a Queen Spider’s nest, there were certainly no kittens in sight; only a gut splattered Alistair, shaking gluey spider innards off his shield with a girlish look of distaste. They’d had to wash their bedding in the river after that one, because she hadn’t allowed them time to bathe first.

It wasn’t to say that Alistair _minded_ at all. It saved him the trouble of looking like an insatiable puppy of a Templar-Warden, following his lady around with a whine in hopes of bits of sex tossed his way. Sex was as wonderful as it was made out to be. Sex with _her_ was wonderful indeed, even if they did it sometimes as he stood half in a mop bucket.

Somehow Alistair ended up with a train of Dalish children after they’d sorted the werewolf fiasco and won the camp’s trust. Four of them, impossibly cute, tiny elfish kits, following him from end to end, hiding behind nearby tents and trees and giggling. Eventually Alistair couldn’t stand it anymore and put it to himself to teach them how to give silent pursuit, as only a man who’d been a boy in large halls could give.

“And for Andraste’s sake don’t giggle.” He said, and finally noticed the Warden staring at him from some distance away with _that look_. Alistair gulped, feeling like a zing of something like spell fire going down his spine.

Even as his pulse picked up and his cock twitched with conditioned anticipation, Alistair panicked fleetingly. It wasn’t like the Dalish had given their band a tent, and he didn’t fancy appropriating some poof elf’s bed.

Silly me, he thought as she led him smartly into the forest by the hand. She sat him on a stump and rode him until they both came screaming. 

“What is it?” He asked her bewilderedly, the next time he saw _that look_ , though being across a wide field of hacked up darkspawn, she didn’t hear him. Good thing too, because it had come out in rather the same tone she used when she asked Dog the same question. “By the Maker, what is it this time?”

Leliana chuckled in that sultry Orlesian fashion at his elbow, and Alistair jumped. He’d no idea she was so close.

“Ahh. I see tentpoles will be snapped tonight, eh?.” She chortled.

“That was only the one time!” Alistair protested, blushing fiercely. And that one had definitely been his fault. Zevran knew the story, actually, told it over too many pints in the Pearl, and had assured him that such accidents weren’t uncommon upon a man’s first time receiving head. “I don’t even know what sparks it.” He said this grouchily only because he was embarrassed. 

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Well you see it don’t you?” Alistair nodded slightly across the field. “ _That look_. I know _that look_ , except sometimes it comes after we’ve both freshly killed something and sometimes it comes when I’m being absolutely harmless.”

“Harmless?” Leliana asked curiously. 

“Yes! Like—the other night when Wynne was replanting her herb garden and commandeered Sten and I to hold the ones she’d dug up. I had a crick in my neck after. Not that I mind.” He hurriedly added, because Leliana and the Warden had been known to engage in womanly talks with one another, and you could never know what was said then.

Leliana turned her head and hummed thoughtfully. “Ah. I have it. You held tiny baby plants with their tender roots in your hands?”

Alistair blinked. “Yes?”

“Your warrior’s hands, Alistair? And my, but they are large.” Leliana tittered as she turned one such hand she’d snatched into hers around and around. 

Alistair looked across the field and was relieved to see the Warden’s back.

“You are a man of brilliant symmetry, Alistair.” Leliana told him, tracing the lines of his palm with her fingertips as she studied them. “A fearsome fighter and a big, strapping man,” she leered, and Alistair colored. “But also a man who plays with children, picks flowers, and pets dogs he sees on the street—aha, yes, I did see that.”

She finally released his hand, and Alistair quickly put a step between them, clearing his throat loudly. Leliana ignored him. “I prepose,” she was saying. “that it is this balance the Warden sees.”

She turned her head again. “There is a song in Antiva that Zevran has been kind enough to teach me. It claims, essentially, that what a woman loves most is a man ‘who can slap but can also stroke’.”

Alistair turned well and truly red as Leliana laughed uproariously, and beat feet across the field to the side of the woman he felt somewhat more allowed to discuss such matters with. The Warden greeted him with a smile and warm fingers tucked into the leather ties of his armor, but didn’t tug him behind a tree, which Alistair found strange. 

He caught her eyes to deliver an inquiring look, but she mutely shook her head and resumed her conversation with Morrigan. 

“Is something the matter?” He asked, when evening had come and he remained unravished.

The Warden was settled close at his side near the fire, and they had a meager bit of privacy.

She looked at him curiously.

“You know, after the battle. I saw you.”

She turned pink. “Oh, that. I only…thought you’d like a break.” She mumbled.

“A—break?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure…” She gave an aggravated huff and muffled the rest against his shoulder.

“What?” Alistair asked stupidly, around the part of him that gleed at cuddling. “That I’d want to?”

He felt a tickle that he assumed was her saying yes.

Alistair forgot to look around the fire to see who was within hearing distance as he bent his head to hers and said, honestly, “I would never say no to you.” About anything, he rather thought.

She surfaced after a beat, still tinged prettily, but bright-eyed rather than shying.

“Really?” She said, and Alistair nodded, knowing they weren’t talking—just—about sex.

The Warden grinned, and kissed him sweetly, and rose with him when he stood.

He was very careful not to beak the tentpole this time.


End file.
